The boutique smelled faintly of polished leather, rare incense, and money.
Not the loud, but the quiet, generational kind. The sort that didn't need to shout to be recognized.
Floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined the walls, reflecting rows of tailored suits woven with subtle defensive arrays, jackets embroidered with micro-spirit threads that adjusted to temperature and mana flow, boots reinforced with flexible alloy soles meant for both ballroom floors and emergency combat situations. Everything inside the store whispered refinement and advantage.
On a curved ivory couch at the center of the boutique sat four young men who very clearly did not need to check price tags.
James leaned back lazily, one ankle resting on his knee, examining his fingernails as if the fate of the world depended on their smoothness. He wore an expensive charcoal vest over a silk shirt, sleeves rolled just enough to suggest effort without appearing like he tried too hard.
On the glass table in front of him lay an open brochure filled with highlighted items.
He tapped it once before sliding it across the table toward the attendant standing nearby.
"So aside from these four," James said casually, not even looking up, "I want everything else here."
The male attendant, dressed immaculately in the boutique's signature uniform, bowed immediately.
"Yes, sir."
No hesitation or surprise. Just professional efficiency.
Across from James, three other young men stared at him.
The first, short brown hair cut in a precise bowl style that somehow still looked fashionable, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, eyes narrowed.
"Why are you doing this?" he asked flatly.
James continued inspecting his nails.
The brown-haired boy sighed dramatically. "I know something is up, James. I've known you since we were five. This spendthrift act?" He gestured at the brochure. "What's the gist? Spill."
On either side of him sat the other two.
One was a curly redhead with sharp green eyes and a perpetually unimpressed expression. The other had dyed blonde hair styled carefully to look effortless, currently unwrapping a piece of candy like the conversation was merely background entertainment.
James finally looked up.
He chuckled.
"Nothing serious," he said with a shrug. "I'm just preparing for school."
"For school?" Brown Hair repeated slowly, disbelief coating every syllable.
James stood, stretching lazily. "Ah, speaking of which, I have an appointment at the spa later." He glanced at the time on his wristband. "Sorry, guys. I won't be hanging out today."
The redhead blinked.
The blonde paused mid-candy unwrap.
The brown-haired boy stared at him as if he'd just announced he was joining a monastery.
"You're consuming your savings… for school?" Brown Hair asked, voice climbing. "Who are you kidding?"
James huffed. "It's called investing in oneself."
"In silk-lined jackets?" the redhead muttered.
Brown Hair leaned back, rubbing his temples. "I have an idea why you're doing this," he said slowly. "But at the same time… I don't."
The blonde's eyes suddenly lit up.
"Oh," he said, pointing his candy accusingly. "It can't be because of a certain white hair?"
The reaction was immediate.
James shrieked.
Not in a dignified way.
More like a cat whose tail had just been stepped on.
"Of course not!" he yelped, nearly knocking over a display stand.
All three of his friends flinched.
"Why are you talking like that?!" the redhead snapped.
James cleared his throat quickly, straightening his vest as if nothing had happened.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
The redhead shook his head slowly. "Imagine neglecting your friends over a crush."
"She's not my crush!" James fired back far too quickly.
Unfortunately for him, the blush creeping up his ears betrayed everything.
The blonde popped the candy into his mouth thoughtfully.
"She saved you once," he said around the sweet, tone almost pitying. "And you're already heels over head for her. When she doesn't even remember you. What a tragic story."
"It's head over heels, Michael," James corrected automatically. "Use the right idioms."
Michael's grin widened.
"Oh, so you agree? You're heels over head for her."
James rolled his eyes dramatically and turned away.
Brown Hair folded his arms. "Even if we humor this theory," he said calmly, "it still doesn't make sense. You're buying half the boutique. For school. Somehow white hair is involved. Explain."
James looked at them one by one.
Then he smiled slowly.
"You guys really don't know?"
The three exchanged glances.
Then, in perfect synchronization, they shook their heads exaggeratedly.
James leaned forward, lowering his voice dramatically. He motioned them closer with both hands.
They leaned in despite themselves.
James glanced around suspiciously, as though hidden spies might be crouching between racks of designer coats.
"Spill," Michael whispered impatiently.
James leaned even closer and whispered like a thief sharing state secrets.
"They're combining the schools."
The others blinked.
James's grin widened.
"The male academy and the female academy? They're merging. One campus. Combined classes. No more single-gender schooling."
He leaned back triumphantly.
Silence.
He waited for the shock.
For gasps.
For chaos.
Two whole minutes passed.
James looked at them.
"…What? You don't find this news shocking?"
The three looked at each other.
Then back at him.
Michael spoke first.
"This isn't news."
Brown Hair nodded. "It's been everywhere since yesterday."
Redhead added, "Public announcement. Official confirmation."
James stared at them.
"…It can't be."
Michael pulled out his phone and waved it. "Trending topic. Has been for twenty-four hours."
James grabbed the device and scrolled frantically.
There it was.
Headlines.
Discussion panels.
Speculation threads.
Memes.
His face slowly drained of color.
"You mean…" he said faintly, "I panicked… late?"
The redhead stared at him. "You bought half a boutique because you thought you had exclusive information?"
James dropped back onto the couch.
"…I thought I was ahead of the curve."
Michael burst out laughing.
Brown Hair sighed. "You really are hopeless."
James groaned, dragging his hands down his face.
"This ruins the dramatic impact," he muttered. "I was going to casually 'reveal' it at dinner tonight."
Redhead snorted. "You mean brag."
James ignored him.
"But still," he said defensively, sitting up again. "This changes everything."
"How?" Brown Hair asked.
James looked at them as if they were the slow ones.
"Interaction," he said. "Visibility. Reputation will matter more than ever."
Michael tilted his head. "It already mattered."
"Not like this!" James insisted. "We've been… curated. Presented selectively. Now? Open ground. Direct exposure."
Redhead crossed his arms. "You sound like you're preparing for war."
"In a way, I am," James replied dramatically.
Michael groaned. "He's lost."
James leaned forward earnestly.
"You don't get it. She'll be there."
The teasing energy shifted slightly.
Brown Hair studied him carefully.
"…You really think she'll show up?"
James's expression softened, just a fraction.
"She's strong," he said quietly. "Stronger than most people realize."
The redhead exchanged a look with Michael.
"She disappeared after that incident," Brown Hair said cautiously.
James nodded.
"I know."
"And she doesn't remember you," Michael added, tone far too casual for the damage it carried. "The last time we saw her, I don't think there was any recognition on that face."